Hunt Me, Hurt Me The Chronicles of Vivian Verona Singer
by Saundysaurus
Summary: Vivian Verona Singer, or "V", is from a long line of monster hunters. For her entire existence, she thought she knew all there was to life. Hunt. Survive. Protect. But what happens when that changes?
1. Prologue

Prologue

My name is V. Just V, nothing else. Call me anything else and I'll punch your face in. My real name is Vivian, but nobody ever calls me Vivian, so shut cher trap and call me V. Nice and simple, no miscommunication. Got it? Good. Because I won't be going over that again.

I'm from a long line of monster hunters- and by 'long line' I mean, 'No, don't let the baby take a nap- let's teach her the supernatural alphabet! A is for Abaasy, B is for Baku, C is for Cherufe, D is for Dzunukwa-' to put it lightly my first word was 'Sceadugenga', the word for the shape-shifting undead. Yeah, I sound like I was just such a charming little baby girl, right?

Until first grade I was 'home schooled', but I didn't learn anything that the normal human children did. I mean, sure, I learned reading- 'Read this article about Sigbin to me, Veve.', and mathematics- 'Quick! If you're facing a hydra with eight heads and your stupid partner chops off three of them, how many new heads did it grow and how many does it have now?! ', and spelling- 'Ok Sweetie spell 'Hiderigami', and then 'Hircocervus' for daddy.' (I learned to spell really well, none of the other children understood how I did it), there were language classes, 'Recite the lord's prayer in latin, french, spanish, and japanese', and public speaking lessons…..'ok baby, I'm a Taotie, tell me why I shouldn't eat you. You have 45 seconds.' .

At 4 years old, my father started taking me on 'field trips' (aka I was strapped to his back in a car-seat type contraption to get a 'real close up experience' when he and my older brother, Terrance, went out on 'hunting' trips) and taught me to wield and maintain a crossbow. At 6, I learned how to wield, reload, clean, take apart and reassemble(in the dark) guns of all sorts. So naturally- I was the most badass little girl you'd ever meet.

But I was also a little girl with lots of problems. When I went to public school- I wasn't scared, like most kids would've been. In fact, as my teachers soon noticed, I didn't really act like any of the other little girls in my class did in any way, shape, or form. I was the one who showed up in cute yet tomboy-esque clothes, would sit down in her assigned seat and not speak a word or do anything until she was told to- hang on, maybe I can muster up a flashback…..

I walk into class and sit down at the desk that has a cardboard nameplate taped to it that reads 'Vivian', I made it a point to scribble out the other five letters of my name the first chance I got. Which just so happened to be on the first day,with a crayon, during 'craft time'. didn't like that very much, but I didn't really care what liked or didn't like.

Today was a stupid day. 'Picture Day' Mommy had called it. 'We have to look pretty for picture day'. I didn't really trust my mom at this point- but I'll tell you about that in a bit.

It might have just been the most embarrassing day of my life. My mom had me dressed in such a gaudy frufru outfit- I wanted to puke. 'But mama I don't like it….' I whined. 'But baby don't you want mommy to have just one nice pretty picture of you that she can keep close to her forever and ever?' she had asked. 'No.' I'd thought, but I didn't dare say that. Not that I was really afraid or intimidated by my mother, after all- she wasn't the monster hunter in the relationship.

She had pulled my hair up into a ponytail so tight I felt like my skin would tear. I wore a thin-strap-sleeved fabric bodice type top, accented with sequins, lace, and ribbons- and I had a frilly little skirt and cute little sandals. Sounds adorable right?

Too bad I've never liked adorable.

But mother's day was approaching, and, at that time, Mom was pregnant again- and papa had encouraged me to put up with her fawning and fussing and treat her extra nice- so I did.

Or I tried to, this was pushing the envelope.

. . .

_Really_ pushing the envelope…..

'You're so beautiful Vivian, you'll grow up to be so stunning-especially with your hair up,you just look so pretty….' she had said. I ran around the house afterwards screeching as Terrance laughed at me. I retorted that he looked stupid too with his hair slicked back. That shut him up. That shut him up _real_ fast.

"You look very pretty today Vivian." smiles, I give her a stubborn glare. I can hear the girls in my class snickering at my change of attire. All the girls who I never got along with, who I never understood. Guys liked me better- because I liked monster trucks and dirt and violence and scars. Clayton told me I was different from other girls. I told him I already knew that. Looking back, Clayton may have been the first boy who ever had a crush on me. In school, my friends were Jacob, Ronnie, Quinton, and Clayton. It stayed that way until I dropped out of High School.

is watching me like I've finally passed her inspection. Me, the girl who when she asked 'What do you want to be when you grow up?' had to reply 'I don't know', because Papa said I wasn't allowed to expose monster hunting to normal people if it could be helped. Whenever we had 'creative writing time' I was always the one that didn't understand. She always told me 'Just write something.', and I would. Then I would see the shock on her face when she read the factual compositions about different sorts of supernatural beings. 'This is great fiction.' She would say. 'It's true.' I would state.. 'You're a dirty liar!' Lisa, a girl in my class would squeal. And so I kicked Lisa, I kicked her hard.

Yeah-I got a lot of time-outs in school.

And the girls in class never liked me.

Neither did Lisa's parents.

I didn't care.

"Today we're going to draw a nice Mother's Day picture for our mom's, ok?" Chirps. "Think of the sweetest thing you could do for your mom and put it into a picture."

So I did. I used all of the crayons in my box and drew a picture of me protecting my mom from a shadow monster.

didn't like that very much.(and my mom didn't either)

That would have been the end of it, of all the terrible embarassingly painful occurrences on that day, notice I said- _would_ have been.

Because on that day, Clayton made a terrible mistake. He pulled my already painful ponytail- and I turned around with super-speed and rammed a crayon right in his eye.

Yeah- That was my first expulsion….

For the longest time in my childhood, I was convinced my mother was secretly a Shtriga, or an evil witch that hated me. Because any time I was around she gave me this glare- this glare that said 'I don't like you, Why can't you be something else?', When she was pregnant she'd glare at me even more heatedly. I didn't care, In fact- maybe I did every little thing I could to spite her. Because I didn't like her, and I didn't trust her. I didn't trust my own mother, because she didn't like or trust me. either.

On my birthday that year, dad gave me a puppy. A rottweiler named Ripper, and he's been one of my closest confidants ever since. Maybe that's what was really the final straw, the dog. The big, lumbering, drooling, biggest lovable buddy ever- because three days later and 7 ½ months pregnant, mom left. She left dad for a street performer.

We haven't heard from her since, and personally-

I don't want to.

That traitorous Shtriga can burn in hell.

She broke my papa's heart.

Terrance and I had always been close, but after that- it's really hard to describe how important we became to one another. Terrance was my other half, my support system, and I was his. You couldn't have me without him, or vice versa. We were determined to protect each other, so we would never have to feel that sort of hurt again...

Maybe I dropped out of school to silently anger her.

Maybe I sold her jewelry because pops just couldn't bring himself to.

Maybe I trashed her car to try and prove something.

But maybe the real reason I hate her so much, is because perhaps- for just one moment in time, maybe even just the instant where I was born-

I actually cared about her.

Like I said- that traitorous Shtriga can burn in hell.

Because she broke my heart too.


	2. Chapter 1: Sorry About Your Eyepatch

Chapter One: Sorry about Your Eyepatch...

You get a lot of stares when you're a lean blonde girl in faded jeans, with a navy paperboy sort of cap with you long hair tucked underneath, with a 118lb companion of pure muscle and sleek fur following you around without a leash. Especially when you're out grocery shopping. At eight at night. With a clearly visible gun at your hip. Yeah- you get a lot of stares.

Particularly when your grocery cart contains 12 canisters of iodized salt, other rag-tag containers of dried herbs and spices, and a few pounds of raw meat. And trust me- none of this stuff was for making some super-special beef jerky. And I think people knew it.

I looked over the aisles as I strolled along, picking up a few miscellaneous items that may have made my cart seem a bit more "normal". A few hair ties, a bag of rice, bobby pins, a new chain leash for Rip since he chewed his way through his last rope leash, and just the first bottle of shampoo I happened to see on the shelf.

"V?" I hear my name being called, and I turn. I can see Clayton, with his eyepatch (that I gave him in first grade) and big smile striding towards me. Do I feel bad for maiming his face when we were little? Yes. Should he probably stop trying to talk to me? Also Yes. Am I going to make him? No. As stated previously I still feel bad. Will I ever stop feeling bad about it? Eh-probably not. Clayton is a nice guy who forgave me very readily, and the only way I'd ever be able to get rid of the guilt I feel (or at least stifle it for a while) would be to give him something he truly, deeply wants. And what Clayton truly wants is to date me.

Sorry Clayton-but there isn't so much room for a man in my life, men in my life get hurt (and killed) a lot. I especially can't take the risk of getting involved with a man who knows nothing of what's really out there. That's just begging for bloodshed- and I'm really quite fond of Clayton, he's been a good friend for as long as I can remember. And friends are something I have very few of. For the same reason that I won't date Clayton- having too many friends is also dangerous.

But Clayton is like a puppy that no matter how many times you say 'No.', will always wag his tail when he sees you. It's very sweet, but I have a hard time being sweet in return. My 'cousins' (Not my real cousins, Pa is just their dad's best friend and regular hunting buddy), Dean and Sam, had a mother who was a hunter and fell in love with their dad before he knew anything about our world. It worked out for a while. But she's dead now. She died a very dark and bloody death that to this day remains shrouded in mystery. And I don't want to be like her, falling for one of the humans who would have to relearn everything they thought they knew (I believe they call that a 'Midlife crisis'). I don't want to put Clayton in danger-So I'll just let him think I'm 'Not like other girls'. Yeah. I'm not like them at all. I never will be.

"What's that?" he points at my cart.

"Hey Clayton, just grocery shopping. My dad is out of town for a while but he still has this crazy list of stuff we have to buy every time. You know him, crazy superstitious." I dismiss, pushing the cart down the aisle. I didn't mention that Pa had been missing for over a month now. Was I worried? Yes. But I knew better. Pa could handle himself- after all, he's taught me everything I know. And I'm not exactly one easy lady to tango with if you catch my drift.

"Salt?" He inquires, picking up one of the 14oz cylindrical containers.

"It keeps the spirits and demons away." I tease, plucking the container from his hand and tossing it back into the cart.

"Spirits and demons? Does superstition run in your family?" he asks as Rip trots after us.

"You could say that." I shrug as we approach as we approach check out and the cashier gives me a strange look.

"Do you want me to walk you home? You'll be going back to an empty house…"

"It's fine, Clayton. It's just up the road, and besides, I won't be alone- I have Ripper."

"Are you sure you don't want help?"

"I'm positive."

"Really?"

"I'm as positive as I am that if you ask me one more time I'll drop kick you like I did in our Tai Jitsu class in ."

"Ok-point taken. Just be careful, ok? It's dark outside."

"Clayton, It's night time, of course it's going to be dark." I say exasperatedly, paying the cashier and taking my bags.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Clayton sneak a folded up slip of paper into one of the cellophane bags. Probably his phone number- Again.

"Yes, but tonight- You may just notice it is a bit darker than usual…"

Maybe it was the odd serious tone he used that was so unlike the Clayton I know that caught my attention, but then- maybe it was the dark words themselves that made my fingers clench. I don't really know what about that little statement sent off my hunter sense- especially when a statement like that comes from Clayton.

"What do you mean?" I turn around to look him in the eye, huffing one of the locks of hair that peeks out from under my cap out of my face.

"Nothing, It was nothing." he shrugs.

"Are you sure? Is something wrong?" I ask, watching him skeptically. Usually it was a look reserved for those who were either a- dumb enough to try and touch my gun, or b- just did something so incredibly stupid it made me want to use my gun. I happen to know for a fact that this look creeps out about 99% of the human population.

"What? N-No V, I was just being stupid, looking out for you, ya know?" he laughs, and my suspicion melts-it was just like Clayton to say stuff like that, looking for an excuse to walk me home- and yet…

"See you later, Clayton."

"Keep your eyes open for passing cars- I don't want you getting hit."

"Will do- c'mon Rip, we're heading home."

. . . . . .

Maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me, but then- maybe it really was 'darker than usual' tonight. If that was possible. There was no moon tonight- and yet even the stars seemed to glint less animatedly than they did before. It was probably just me- because Ripper didn't seem to mind. He trotted ahead in front of me, occasionally stopping to sniff a daisy and lagging behind, but in a few moments would always come loping back up with a goofy grin and a pant.

I had almost dismissed all of my worries as me just being extra precautious because my pa had been gone a tidbit more than usual- that is, until I looked up the driveway and saw a black 1967 Chevy Impala parked next to my truck, and the front door beaten down and gaping open like the maw of a hungry anakim…..

I'd like to meet the soul that thinks they can break into my house.


	3. Chapter 2: You Have Thirty Seconds

Chapter 2: You Have Thirty Seconds….

I creep around to the bed of my truck in the shadows, a warm summer breeze slipping over my skin as my sharp eyes remain locked onto the black void where the door should've been. I rip the tarp off of the top with as little sound as possible, and draw my shotgun from the back with a sort of precision that only comes from someone who has a had to silently draw a gun from the bed many-a-time(exhibit a- the claw marks gouged into the firecracker red paintjob). Pops sends me out on solo jobs every now and then, which is the only thing that really twisted his arm into giving me Terrance's old truck- aka "Selena".

Selena is a junker if there ever was one, but hey- you become pretty grateful when you can carry around an entire bunker's worth of ammunition and supplies, and when those thick steel sides are all that lies between you and a hungry lupin on a full moon. Any other car would crumple under the stress this thing has been through. I'd take Selena above those pretty smart cars anyday. With my profession- one of those would be crushed like a tin can by now. And Selena was my brother's- which in itself makes her very sentimental. I get to sit in the same seat my brother did when Pa let him go on solo missions…. It makes the gap between us feel that much smaller. You see- nowadays….there's a pretty big gap between Terrance and I…..a fairly sizable gap-

Because Terrance is dead. Terrance has been dead for four years now. And I killed him.

Well, I killed him more or less….. It was a shapeshifter that was mimicking me that really did him in. But if he hadn't cared so much about me, if we hadn't gotten separated on that mission….. Some nights I still have nightmares of what it must've been like, the horror, the betrayal Terrance must've felt when his own little sister murdered him in the sewers. The _sewers_ of all places. He didn't deserve to die like that…..he didn't deserve to feel that terrible betrayal in his final moments….. My big brother- the one who always told me It wasn't my fault that mother left, who would protect me from the thunder and lightning outside when I was small and afraid with his own body, who would take me for a drive in this very truck whenever something was upsetting me, the only one who listened to every word I had to say- I guess it would be stupid to state that I miss him. And yet- I do. Two years have passed and I still miss him just as much as I did on the first day, when I realized that he would never come back.

It's made me very bitter, and somewhat cold. There was never a man as good-hearted as my brother, and yet whatever you believe in, fate, god, destiny- took him away in what may have been the most brutal fashion ever known. The cold knife of betrayal is something unknown to me- because I have only ever trusted deeply my father and brother(and RIpper), and family is something that will never leave your side(excepting my floozy of a mom, we don't really mention her though). 'Family' Papa had said.'Keep your trust in the family.'. And yet- Terrance met his end by that cold blade that I have never known because of it, god, fate- whatever. It isn't fair. If there is an afterlife I'm sure he must hate me, or at least think that he hates me. So for whatever god may be out there- what nerve have you? How _dare_ you? What makes you want to toy with lives in such a cruel fashion? You have no respect nor reverence from me. Because I will never forgive you for taking him away in such a brutal manner. You aren't divine- you are just as bad as those despicable creatures my family seeks out to destroy.

So anyway, back on track V, back on track- I pull the old shotgun out without a sound. No bumping against the side of the bed or the top of the gate, nothing. I approach the door, using the skills my brother and pa drilled into me- 'Cling to shadows, step lightly, be aware of your surroundings.', bags of groceries in one arm, and a shotgun over my shoulder, I creep through the herb garden, up the stone path, and up the sturdy steps. I leave the groceries on the porch and slink inside, staying absolutely still and breathing in the quiet controlled way that is nearly inaudible as my eyes adjust to the darkness. So whoever was here was stupid enough to break down the door but smart enough to not turn on any lights? What sort of contradiction is this?

I can hear voices, very quiet voices mind you, but still voices, in the hallway to the living room. I tread very carefully, paying special care not to step on the six creaky boards between the doorway, kitchen, and living room. Knives and glasses glint with starlight from the windows as I pass through the kitchen, a very eerie and yet mesmerizing sight. How odd a feeling- to be creeping through one's own home as if they were the intruder. It almost gives a feeling of watching one's own life from another's eyes. Which is very creepy indeed.

I peek around the corner. They stand in front of the window, right beside Pop's recliner and the rocking chair, the mantle above the fireplace from across the room shows sheets of dots prickling from frames, the stars being reflected off of the pictures and memories there too. Ripper is waiting outside, by the truck. He isn't so good at being stealthy, as big as he is, so when I start to sneak around he usually takes a hint and stays put. I can see their silhouettes against the background of the starry sky, a leather jacket, short haircut. The other has a longer sort of shaggy cut and is a few inches taller than the other figure. The fools have their backs turned to me. I don't know what they are, and honestly I don't want to take any chances. 'Attack first, ask questions later.' Pa had always said. And I certainly don't trust idiots who break into houses- even if they are human. Because you know, they could _possibly_ not be human. Since this is the house of monster hunters and all…..

I shoulder the gun and aim my sights down the barrell. There's a harsh click as it cocks, it's a sound that shatters the silence like a shrill scream on a deadly silent night- and for all the impact had, it may as well have been.

They whip around like deer caught in headlights(which I of course had seen before- I'm a girl who isn't ostracized from the more…disturbing sides of life), my trained nose is overwhelmed with the scent of cigarette ash and bar smoke. It makes my eyes tear up a bit and I hold by finger against the trigger in a threat that is silent but oh-so real.

"You arses have about thirty seconds to give me a damn good reason for breaking into my house." I say in a low cold tone that seems to make even the crickets and owls outside fall silent.

"Viv?" I hear a voice from my past drag itself to the surface- here, in the present, right in front of me.

"She has a _gun_. you said she would be friendly." The taller, longer haired silhouette hisses.

"Woah-Dean? Jayce?" I lower my gun, though only a miniscule amount.

"Yeah, can we talk without weapons now V?" Dean asks, holding his hands up in a 'girl you _crazy_' fashion.

Dean. The prick who I dated at sixteen years old, and broke up with at seventeen because I found out he was cheating on me with Lisa. Remember Lisa from first grade? The one who called me a liar and I sent home crying? Yeah- that Lisa. Bad blood runs deep hombre, bad blood runs deep….. But Dean was also my Pa's best friend's son, and here he was with his little brother Sam (who wasn't so little now). I know Dean wouldn't dare show his face around here unless he had gotten himself into some seriously stupid trouble, and I had no grudge against Sam- but still, I had to be careful.

"What was my mother's name?"

"Yvonne." Dean rolls his eyes. "are we done with this? Can we put the shotgun away? It's a little bit intimidating."

"I don't think we're done quite yet." I say sharply, tossing the gun aside and reaching my hand into my pocket, I walk up to Dean-

And promptly ram a silver sewing needle into his hand, all the way in. Feel the pain Dean. Feel the pain.

I didn't think a man wearing such a cool leather jacket would scream like such a girl.


	4. Chapter 3: Man Up

Chapter Three: Man Up.

"What the bloody hell was they for?!" Dean howls, clutching at his hand.

"I had to make sure you weren't a shapeshifter. You passed the test." I say nonchalantly. Like he can judge. He _so_ would have done the same thing. You know- if men wouldn't feel so embarrassed to carry sewing needles on their persons. I mean, sure, you can shoot a person in the foot with a silver bullet- but that seems a bit extreme, doesn't it? To test for a shapeshifter you _do_ have to pierce skin and muscle, but I think a smaller wound is better than being handicapped until the gaping hole in your appendage heals. Honestly- men and their testosterone. Needing to show off. Not everything requires something as flashy as a gun, but it seems like they always seem to have this super competitive 'Macho face-off'. Do they realize no girl will ever find that attractive? And by 'no girl' I mean me. I don't find that attractive. But apparently girls like Lisa Whitaker do.

"What do you two even need? It's night out and you broke down my door. You still better have a damn good excuse." I give them that 99% lethal stare. Unfortunately- Dean is one of those morons that is immune to said 99% lethal stare. In other words- he's the 1%. Which also means that Dean is that idiot that can never take a hint (which is probably why our relationship failed). So that leads me to say- Dean totally deserved to have a sewing needle thrust into his hand. Jus' sayin'. Hombre needed a wake-up call. And did it feel good hearing him shriek like that? Hell yeah it did. Do I feel bad about it? Not enough to care.

"Your dad's been gone longer than usual." Sam states, stepping forward and turning on the lights, a move that makes all three of us blink from the contrast.

"Yeah, so? Pa can handle himself. I know for a fact he's a top-notch hunter." I snap, but with a bit less venom. Sam has never done anything that would deserve my wrath. In fact, he's kind of cute, in that 'if you were two years older i'd totally date you' kind of way. I was always three years younger than Dean, and Jayce was just four years younger than me. Thing is- I don't date.

Nope. I'll say it loud and proud. VIVIAN VERONA SINGER DOES NOT DATE. No man could put up with this anyway. Dean'll vouch for me- you'll wind up with a sewing needle in your hand. And you'll wind up with a lot of smart remarks too, which may or may not be hurtful. Because I don't censor. Handle the truth or get the hell out of my sight. Because I _will_ tell you everything you _don't_ want to hear. Not exactly perfect girlfriend material am I? And this is why my dating days are over. My life doesn't consist of happiness or love- my life consists of only three things. .Survive. That's it. That's all the good I can do in the world. And if you think that sounds terrible, try saying that again after I save your life from a gorgon. Because it'll happen. That's always what happens. I'm just waiting for it to happen to a certain Miss Lisa Whitaker….

"We think something...unfortunate may have happened." Jayce says slowly.

"What makes you say that?" I ask warily, looking down the hallway to see Ripper bounding inside now that the lights were on and he knew it was safe. Dean gives him a dirty look like he's just dragged in a dead badger in his mouth (Oh _c'mon_, He's only done it _twice_!), I give Dean a look that says 'If you say one more word your hand won't be the only thing with a sewing needle in it'. And maybe Dean has just gotten better at taking hints since we last met, because he doesn't say a word more. Good move Dean. Good move.

"Because our dad has been missing for a month too…..and the last thing he told us was to come and find help from you." Sam says.

"No V, we came all this way just for your _charming_ personality and _fabulous_ people skills." Dean guffaws, sweeping into mocking bow. I resist the urge to knee him in the face while he's bent down- barely.

"Let me get this straight- you two break into my house at the dead of night, and expect me to come on a wild goose chase all over heck-knows-where with you for an undetermined amount of time?" I roll my eyes. "You two are more stupid than I thought."

"Well, you are the most dedicated hunter we know- besides our parents." Sam gestures like a peace offering. Sam and Dean were here to make a smart move- when you yourself have no idea what in hell you're doing- bring in reinforcements.

Even if your reinforcements don't have the faintest clue either.

"I can't just drop everything and leave…" I state, going to put my groceries away. "I have Rip to take care of."

"What if Ripper can come too?" Sam offers.

"Bro don't let her take the _dog_!" Dean whines, Sam gives him a quick glare.

"Well then…..yeah, I guess I'd go. But if Pops isn't really in trouble there's gonna be hell to pay. I'll give you three months before I call bullsit on you guys and go home."

"That's enough time." Dean promises. "Three months is plenty of time."

I'm starting to put the packages of meat in the freezer(since, hey- obviously they aren't going to be used for a while now) when that little slip of paper (Yeah- remember that?) falls onto the floor.

"What's this Veeeee?" Dean teases, picking it up. "Did the cashier slip you a little love note?" He coddles.

"No. It's from Clayton. They boy just doesn't know when to quit I figure it's his phone number or something." I dismiss, Ripper giving Sam the dreaded 'Puppy eyes' as he stands next to the treat jar.

"Um…..V…...I'd think again if I were you….." Dean says slowly.

"Why?" I look back at him. His brow is furrowed like he's actually trying to _think_. Isn't that just _adorable_?

"Look." He holds the paper slip out for me to read.

'V- there's something in my house. It killed Quinton last night. I think it's coming for me tonight. I know you're different….I know It's scared of you…..you have to come help us…- Clayton'

My first thought?

One of my only friends is going to die tonight because I was too stupid to see what was in front of me. Because monsters are crafty- it was watching him tonight. Making sure that he didn't tell me anything at the grocery store. But if it saw him slip me that note….

Clayton is in a lot more trouble than he ever was before.


	5. Chapter 4: Blow Your Own Cover

Chapter Four: Blow Your Own Cover.

For a moment- all I can feel is….nothing. Numbness in my mind as my body goes through the usual motions- grab the salt, sharpen the knives, hide them on you, start the truck, make sure the dog is _in_ said truck, accidentally run over Dean's foot when he tries to stop you- whoops. Maybe that last one wasn't a part of the usual motions per say…..

Well, either way, he would have one hell of a time driving after me now. Unless he let Sam drive (which let's face it, with Dean's ego- he would never let Sam drive _his_ car). Selena's engine revs in that noisy old junker fashion, but she speeds along faithfully as Rip lolls his head out of the window with his tongue out. Ripper know's where we're going. He knows by heart the way to Clayton's house. He loves going over and playing with his poodle, Villa, while Clayton and I partake in some rather viciously competitive video games. In fact- I think Ole' Rip may have a crush on little lady Villa- but I keep quiet about it and let him think I don't notice. I don't think Rip realizes that we aren't just going over for some late night fun at Clayton's house tonight, tonight- when even the stars seem darker than usual….

I pull into the driveway- and the first thing I notice is that all of the lights are off. Which is very unusual in the Berker household, since Clayton has one older sister that should be coming home from college any day now (Missy), a younger brother (Quinton), and a mother who is usually always home. Usually _someone_ has left a light on or is still up. But there's nothing- just darkness through the windows as they reflect the eerie glint of the dim stars. 'Darkness ignites fear' I remind myself, 'and they thrive off of fear.'.

It's one of the base principles of supernatural lore. In the beginning every monster, creature, spirit, demon- was created to explain some terrible disaster or occurrence that otherwise would've been inexplicable or to be truthful, unthinkable. Like brutal murders in the dead of night- a demon must have done it, because it was unthinkable that one of their own, a _human_ could have done it. But these primitive people failed to realize that sometimes, over time and years of stubborn ways- what you give the power to hold fear over you, even something of your own mind's invention, will sometimes find a way to manifest in a manner that is not as elusive as it was before.

In all civilizations, even current day civilizations, there will always be the liars. The 'wannabes'. The attention seekers. Those who have long claimed to have seen these demons, spirits, creatures, etc. all for just a moment of attention- when the real thing manifests, they are the first targets. The monsters always seem to sniff out the liars first- and that is one of the tell-tale signs that we always look for in an investigation. Was anyone who long said they have seen unusual things killed, did they disappear without a trace? We refer to these unfortunate souls as the 'Caeci', or 'The blind ones'. They never expected their sins to come back for them, certainly not to come kill them. One of our duties as hunters is to give the Caeci a sacred burial, to ensure that the creature does not come back for the remains (or in some cases- ensure that the remains themselves don't turn into a creature). Families never find out what has happened to the Caeci, we can never show them the gravesite or tell them how they died. The Caeci, blind to their own sins, are left blind to the eye of history as well.

After the Caeci, they usually sniff out the 'assecula', or the followers, the disciples that have sometimes worshipped it, or tried to call it forth- they take credit for it's appearance, but in reality it would have taken form anyway. Fear and time are two of the most powerful entities anywhere. Fear and time can do almost anything. Sometimes, if the creature is brutal enough, it will destroy it's own followers before it destroys the liars. Those are the ones that are particularly hard to destroy- evil runs deep…..evil runs in blood through the floorboards…...evil runs like a river of crimson…..evil runs inside of all humankind. Which means that,

Yes- Evil runs inside us Hunters too.

Hunters are only human.

Humans with knowledge that is both dangerous and life-saving.

If there were a monster here, in my own hometown, I would have noticed. I would have found out. This much I am certain of. So that means that Clinton's family is the creature's first set of victims. Which means that someone in Clinton's family is a Caeci. Which one though? Who would would feel so inclined to lie about something like that…..

I draw my pistols and break down the door with my steel-toed block-heeled boots. The silver buckles and studs glint in the reflected light from the windows and night sky behind me. Say what you want- but heavy yet stylish boots have saved my life on more than one occasion. The smell of blood overwhelms my nose, the stench of sweat and fear mingling with it to create a strong perfume that can only be described as the scent of death. Whatever is here has created the perfect environment to stay contented and happy. And now it has a snake in it's den. What would it choose to do next?

Ripper is snarling, as though his guard dog instincts just _now_ kicked in. Sometimes I think he may have some severe delay complex when it comes to actually being vicious. But hey, thats what makes Ripper. Half puppy love and half inborn killing machine. That's how you get your very own Ripper Singer. There's a constant whimpering that I'm sure is Villa, either she's been pinned up and doesn't like it (Which was rather wishful thinking on my part, but she is a very sweet dog), or the creature had already injured her. Possibly quite badly. It doesn't matter to a monster who they hurt- if they have to kill a dog to get to the master they most certainly will. The same goes metaphorically. Because the more intelligent creatures call us hunters 'Dogs', slaves to mankind by our own knowledge. Because honestly, after you know what you know, and have seen what you've seen, are you really going to walk away and let these terrible monstrosities run free?

A few hunters have tried to walk away from their duties before, but those are the ones you find in mental institutions. Driven insane because of the guilt and grief, because no normal human will ever believe what they have to say. It's a tough choice- live a life on the brink of insanity and paranoia, or live a life that is almost absolutely assured to be cut painfully short. I wonder if mom's in a mental institution now, nobody believing her when she says she was once married to a monster hunter, stuck in a padded cell with bars on the windows and wishing she had stayed. I hope she is. I hope she regrets deeply what she did to my family- because it isn't hers anymore. But chances are we don't even cross her mind, she's a selfish woman who stopped caring a long time ago.

"Villa…" I call softly, stepping through the dark house that reeks of death as my blue-green (Not quite blue but not quite green either) eyes adjust once again to complete darkness. I tilt my cap at an angle and follow the sound of her whining and yipping. If anything dares to show it's face I'll just put a silver salt-cased bullet in it's head. That usually works. _Usually_. I peek around the corner and see a mass of white quivering fluff covered in red and sprawled in the corner. The damn parasite had the nerve to injure the poor dog.

"Hey Villa. It's me….V….you know me….." I coo, kneeling down to soothe her matted fur back and give her a bit of condolence. She's so ripped to shreds that I seriously consider snapping her neck to put her out of her suffering- but she's held on this long, and with the way she's looking at me….I couldn't bear killing Ripper's girlfriend. I'm pretty sure he's had dreams of her that somewhat resemble _Lady and the Tramp_ anyway.

"I'll be back, ok? I'll come back for you- yes, that's a good girl...Rip is gonna stay with you, alright? You won't be alone, just hold on until we can get you fixed up…." she gives a weak pant and a whine, her paws scrambling slightly as Rip sits beside her like a knight in shining armor- you know, if dogs could wear armor. Or be knights. Oh hush it's a metaphor, ok? Nobody said it had to make sense.

I get to my feet and go into the master bedroom, the door is left ajar and darkness seems to coil out of it like a palpable chill. The moment I step inside my nose is assassinated by the scent of rotting flesh and blood, fear and evil. Seriously- I'm actually worried I'm going to lose my sense of smell. I've heard that can happen. It happened to my Pa. True story, couldn't smell anything. It's why we always had him clean out the neighbor's barn when they asked for help. Cuz trust me- that ain't a pretty smelling place. And you might as well make the man do it who isn't gonna wind up caring if he smells like horse manure for days.

A shivering pale form is on the bed, a form I recognize. It has rough bandages around it's leg like someone who had NO CLUE what they were doing tried to patch him up. The crimson blood has soaked through though, and the sight of it worries me. Why would a monster try to patch you up? This bodes very ill indeed…..

"Clayton- who did this?" I say in a sharp voice that slices through the air like a knife.

"You better hide, V, she'll get you….she doesn't like you…..she never has…..She'll kill you if she finds you….Quinton tried to stop her… and she sicced it on him...it murdered him….I tried to take her on…..but she injured me…."

"Who is _she_ Clayton?!" I snap.

"It's not polite to yell." A remarkably calm voice pierces the night from behind me. I turn slowly and freeze. Short bob-cut auburn hair. Fairly dark hazel eyes. A few sparse freckles and a sturdy built tall figure that beats mine by a couple of inches. A large knife in her hand and blood sprayed up the side of her pink hoodie.

"Missy." I say slowly. "Missy, what did you do….?"

"I thought I'd taken care of the dog already…" she muses,

"I guess I forgot one….."


	6. Chapter 5: This is My Duty

Chapter 5: This is My Duty.

"Missy- I'll ask you one more time…...what. did. you. do?" I say slowly, so that even a perky sorority girl like her could understand. An eerie smile creeps across her freckled face that makes me back up a step.

"I called it….It's mine now. If I feed it….it will help me get rid of pests like you. It gives me the power to execute the guilty…." There's a low growl and the closet door opens itself- I turn and barrage the inside of the closet with all the bullets loaded in the barrel.

'Bam!Bam!Bam!Bam!Bam!Bam!' there's a flash as each of them go off, showing a glimpse of the dark shadows and blood on the walls with each rapid shot. The empty casings clink against the ground as a reminder of just how small death can be. I put the gun back in it's holster and watch the closet with narrow eyes, curls of smoke coil through the air from the previous gunfire.

"V….you really are….." Clayton's weak voice shakes.

"Don't speak Clayton. All you need to know is that I'm going to clean this mess up, ok?"

"I wouldn't be so sure- I don't need my pet to take care of you….he's already told me- you're only human." Missy grabs me by my honey-blonde hair and drags me back a few staggered steps- I catch my footing for a moment and ram my elbow up her ribcage. This girl is seriously demented if she thinks she can take me on in a fight one on one. My father was _Bobby Singer_ for God's sake. I turn and am shocked to see that crazed face right in mine- those dark hazel eyes glinting with some foreign madness that this sorority girl could no way have obtained on her own.

"Anata wa kon'ya shinu…" she laughs darkly in a voice that slips out and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end. That little slip up tells me all I need to know. Japanese for 'You die tonight.' with this darkness, and that language- I'm certain I know what has happened.

Missy is in a contract with an Akuma- an evil spirit of japanese origin.

Her first mistake was associating with the thing- once you let an akuma in, it never leaves….

"How could you do this to yourself, Missy….?" I say softly with perhaps a hint of sympathy. But that doesn't last long. The b*tch tries to break my leg with an iron pole. Where in hell did she get an iron pole from anyway?! I jump back and she laughs maniacally. I have to admit- I have severe doubt over whether I could really kill Missy or not. After all- she's still Clayton's sister, no matter what, and I find it hard to believe she would have seriously intended for this to happen- despite what she's saying now. I can hear Ripper and Villa pining as I catch my footing and glare at Missy.

"You know what Vivian? I never really liked you that much anyway…...I think I will let you be my pet's next meal after all…" I watch in grotesque fascination as first the shadow of a hand, then an arm, then a head, neck, torso and legs drags itself out of her mouth- an inky black figure with a white clay mask over it's face that looms over me by at least a good three feet. Whatever this thing is- it's been manifested for at least three weeks…..and the likelihood is…..hiding in Missy's body. It knows everything she knows- by now both her and the akuma are one and the same. They have merged, she is it's host and by now- the entirety of her free will has vanished. Whether she meant it or not- Missy has condemned her own soul. She will suffer until I release her from the hold the dark spirit has on her- leeching off of her body and life force until she is nothing more. And then it will find a new host. I must end this now, before it can manifest further and become even stronger. The evil that runs deep has already infected Missy- it will infect others too given the chance. It is an illness, a plague all human beings harbor within them with no cure to be found. And yet there are still doctors. Hunters there to control the outbreak. To try and stop it in it's tracks.

"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you!" I shout, grasping at the three inch long crucifix around a chain on my neck- the spirit shrieks at me and shudders, lashing at me and I ram my crucifix into it's fist, waves of darkness barraging me like an earthquake when they meet. I shout the verse again as the monster bears down against my crucifix- such tiny protection in comparison. The incredible weight forces me to my knees, my arm feels like lead- and I feel my shoulder pop out of place. I grimance, but continue to say the verses over and over, a mantra, as I look past the beast at Missy's still and vacant form. I draw my second gun from it's holster at my hip, and I aim it at her. Even repeating my biblical mantra- I hesitate. Missy…..Missy was a good girl. She was Clayton's sister.

I see her lips move as tears well in those dark hazel eyes- she is petrified by her reliance on the akuma, the being has taken away every part of her free will- and yet….tears? How….

"Do it V….It's your duty…..you have to do it…." her soft voice cracks.

Yes. My duty as a hunter to exterminate the evil manifestations of this world. To stop the outbreak at any cost. To ease Missy's suffering and set her free. To cease this plauge that rages within human kind.

Yes. My duty as Vivian Verona Singer. As who I am, is to do things that would destroy any normal human's sanity.

I look into her eyes as my aim steadies.

"I'm Sorry."

I pull the trigger.


	7. Chapter 6: Blood Like Rain

Chapter Six:Blood like Rain

_(Warning,this chapter is very gorey and macabre and intense, if you can't handle that sort of thing it's best that you skip this chapter altogether.)_

The blood is like rain. It goes about falling and contaminating everything it could possibly touch. I expected this- when you shoot someone in the head with a holy bullet and they're the host of a spirit or demon, there's always so much blood. What I didn't expect was to watch the blood as it fell on me with a numb face, with a heart that was weighted down by the act of murder. I knew she was possessed- I knew they were merged- I knew there was no other way- and yet I didn't expect her head to explode like that. Like someone who had been harboring a demon for a long time. Missy wasn't even giving a _demon_ refuge, technically.( Hunters are very…. choosey about using the term 'demon', demons and spirits are on entirely different levels.) So maybe Missy…..Even a sweet sorority girl like Missy, could have been harboring her own demons inside of her heart. We all harbor demons inside….guilt is one of them. Guilt is what I feel now. Guilt that made me think there could have been a way to save her.

If rain was warm, like a living body, If rain had ever been the true essence of life- maybe then I would be able to believe that this was only rain. But I can't. Because this isn't. And it never will be. Not until the day the apocalypse rises to destroy the world.

I'm so numb I don't hear Dean and Sam storm in, barrelling in as fast as you can when you've just wasted about an hour fixing your brother's foot because his ex-girlfriend ran over it with her truck.(I still say it was worth it). I hear Ripper starting to howl, and I excuse myself very slowly.

"V!" Clayton exclaims. He's still injured- and I know that if I stay only prying questions will await me. It takes all of the will that I have to look back at him. His eyes are wide- as though he never really believed that I could be what I am. Merciless. A monster hunter. He is pale, ashen even, I give his injured leg a quick glance.

"I owe you an apology, Clayton. I can't explain now. But I'm going to clean this up as best as I can- and then you don't have to worry about associating with me ever again."

"V…..what are you-"

"I am a hunter, Clayton, that's all I can tell you." I say, picking up Missy's decapitated corpse as I leave and go to find Quinton's corpse as well. It isn't very hard to find. The scent of death is never hard to follow.

"Take care of him while I handle this,ok?" I tell Dean and Sam with a flat tone, putting the bodies in the bed of my truck and pulling a black tarp over them. I go back inside and grab VIlla, who is still clinging to life, I put her in the passenger seat and let Rip hop in before I get in on the driver's side.

I don't really give them the chance to say yes or no- I start the truck and back up out of the driveway, barreling down the road as gently as old Selena can muster. VIlla yips and pines. I pull into the emergency veterinary clinic's parking lot. I ring the service bell and leave her there, with my wallet, containing my I.D and money. I'll be back for her, but there's still another pressing matter to deal with. Ripper whines and sticks his head out of the window as I drive away from the clinic too, but he knows that we can't stay.

I take many old forgotten backroads, not even paved and probably unexplored for the greater part of the century. The sun is starting to rise. It is Sunday morning. The sun- a good sign that I've lived to see another day, but a mockery considering what lies in the bed of my truck. How could there still be light after a night like this? The god that people will soon be waking to worship- how could there be a righteous god worthy of their worship after this night? He condemned Missy and Quinton, turned a blind eye to their suffering. Just as he turned a blind eye to my brother, to Dean and Sam with the horrid death of their mother, to all of us hunters everywhere. Maybe our true blessing, our real gift, is that god _has_ turned his blind eye to us. He no longer cares what we do or how we do it. He has condemned us from the start. Condemned us to clean up the messes he finds unworthy of his attention. He's condemned us to a life of hell- and an afterlife of it once all is said and done. A life where blood falls like rain…

The image will forever remain scalded into my mind. Blood like rain. Falling everywhere. Touching everything. Touching me. 'Drip drop, drip drop...' it pattered on the desk and runs down my arms in little crimson rivers…

I shake myself out of it. Never before had I made such a close range explosive shot. It is only natural that it would have some sort of impact on me- right? The dried blood all over my body cracks and flakes as I shift, trying to drive with a dislocated arm is not the easiest task, especially since Selena requires a lot of force to steer- but I know better than to complain when there are people suffering much more than I. Exhibit A- The remnants of Clayton's family, Exhibit B- the two mangled corpses in the bed of my truck. I can almost swear I can hear them bumping around back there, rattling and clunking- but I know that is all in my head too. The bed of my truck is hunkered down like a bunker with weapons, ammunition, supplies, and rations. There was scarcely room to tuck their bodies inside under the tarp. How much of a serial killer I must sound like….

I veer off of the unexplored dirt path. Hunters, and maybe a few stray humans, had only used this path in the past. I drive Selena a ways into the forest, very off-road, very hard terrain to navigate in such a large vehicle. When the trees become too dense to work through, I click off the engine and wince as I drop out of the elevated seat of my truck onto the ground below. The leaves and pine-needles crunch under my heavy boots, morning light has yet to reach here. The forest hangs in the taunting dusky haze of twilight, shadows and insects creeping around as the world sleeps. I open the bed of my truck and remove the tarp, setting it on the ground and folding it up neatly. The bodies have created quite a mess in my truck, one that I'll have to bleach and scrub away later. I pick up Missy first and lug her over my shoulder, I force myself to take Quinton in my arms despite the piercing pain in my shoulder. I can't even bring myself to look down at Quinton's corpse. His body has already started to deteriorate, and the smell of it makes my eyes water. I can't bear to look down and see him like this. I begin to hike through the trees, hunkered down with this extra weight. The folded tarp is rolled up underneath my arm.

I never knew Missy very well- she was always off at college, in her sorority, studying to become a marine biologist. But Quinton- Quinton was one of my few friends. He was Clayton's little brother, he always hung around Clayton and I like a little puppy when we were children. He had wanted to become an inventor. He would go on and on about his ideas, his revolutionary philosophies…..

I force myself to stop, usually I would venture further into the forest- but this time, right here will have to do. There are two bodies instead of one, and my shoulder still hurts. There's a tall pine tree that looks just like all of the others in this dense forest. I set the bodies nearby and go back to the truck, I return with a shovel, salt, a water bottle, a canteen, two candles and a lighter. I unroll the tarp and drape it over the two bodies so I don't have to look at them as I dig. It's that sort of thing that tries to trick your mind, 'If I can't see them, they aren't there.'. But my mind is too smart for that. It doesn't work. I don't know why I try- It never works.

I break soil at the base of the tree with the shovel. Even it's sharp edge takes a lot of force and power to break up the earth. From then- I pour every ounce of anger, frustration, sadness, helplessness, strength, pain, and regret into digging that large 5 ft x 8 ft x 10 ft deep hole. My sweat is a rusty red-brown color as it drips off of my nose, washing away some of the trails of dried blood that cover my skin like an infection of sorts. I always like to dig the graves, especially i it was someone I knew, well, _like_ is the wrong word to use. I _prefer_ to be the one to dig the graves of ones who I knew in life.

'You're one of those.' Papa had said when I was eleven and was insistantly digging the grave for Casey, an orphaned girl in my class who died at the hands of a lupin (and one of the few females I could relate to), on my own. He had stood aside and watched patiently. As though he knew this was something I had to do. I didn't cry. Not even as the blisters formed on my hands. And I didn't let anyone else contribute- not in the removal of a single scoop of dirt. 'What do you mean?' I had asked, hoisting another scoop out of the hole that was by then up to my slim hips. 'You're one of those hunters that digs the graves on their own. It's not a bad thing Veve, It's just how some people obtain closure.'.

'Closure' he had called it. Closure. The act of ending something and ending it for good. Yes- that is what I need, that is what I seek. I seek closure for many things, for many of the incomplete shadows that make up my past. Digging graves may be one way I attempt to physically convince myself that it is over- and over for good. A book closed. The last note faded. The period at the end of a memoir. The last goodbye. And so- while digging this grave, pouring myself and all of my effort into it- I will obtain my closure, won't I? That's how this has always worked before…..

"AAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGggggggggH!" I scream as I stab the shovel into the dirt, stabbing and thrusting over and over again, my heart pounding as I throw a tantrum in the face of whatever self righteous god may be out there. In front of his eyes and his alone. Let him see how angry I am, how bloodthirsty, how ENRAGED. Let him see how much he has hurt me and how broken my existence has become. Let him see that he will NEVER have my love, my thanks. Let him see how torn apart his creation truly is.

The good thing about sweat is that through it- you can hardly feel tears. And even if you do cry- you can pass it off. So I didn't cry. Among the soil, the pain, the silence, the rage- I did not cry.

I throw the bodies into the deep hole and push the great mound of dirt back over them with special care, mixing in salt with the dirt. I stop only once to take a deep drink from my water bottle before moving on with what must be done. I melt the wax of the candles on top of the soil into two holy emblems, seals that will ensure that these remains will never be contaminated or tampered with again. I bend down and set the lighter to the soil and take a step back. The unearthly flame alights the salt mixed earth and licks at the wax seals. I watch as it blazes bright but for only a moment- and then dies back into embers. I pick up my tarp and shovel- and I leave. I don't look back. I don't cry. I don't think. I have to close this like I have closed everything else-

No looking back.

No tears.

Just remembering the day….

The day that blood fell like rain.


End file.
